Choosers Can Be Beggars
by Noxbait
Summary: Early S2. Dean faces one of his worst nightmares. And the world doesn't actually end. A humorous one shot of the boys facing a mundane task in the wee small hours of the morning.
**Hello everyone! Just a fun little one-shot here that popped into my head. Set early S2. Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

"No way."

"Yes."

"Not happening." Dean folded his arms across his chest as if that made it final.

"Yes it is." Apparently, Sam disagreed.

Dean glared at him, but Sam just went on, "We don't have a choice."

"There's always a choice."

"Not this time."

"We can wait."

"No. We. Can't."

"I'm not going in there."

"Fine. Stay in the car."

Dean snorted, then realized Sam was serious when the car door opened and his brother dragged himself out into the cold night air. Shaking his head, Dean said, "Have yourself a freakin' wonderful time."

Whatever Sam said in response, if he actually said anything, was lost in the heavy creaking as he slammed the door as hard as apparently humanly possible. Sinus-pressure headache spiking with the noise, Dean glared at him as he limped away across the deserted parking lot. Settling back in the seat, Dean closed his eyes, not feeling the slightest bit guilty about Sam going in on his own.

Not a bit.

Not one _tiny_ bit.

Nope. Not at all.

Not even a… Dean cursed, sitting up and looking around until he caught sight of his brother, only now making it to the door. The sliding glass slid open and he was swallowed up by one of Dean's worst nightmares. Not a chupacabra, not a Great White shark, not a man-eating monster.

Corporate America at its best.

"Walmart." Dean said, the very word tasting foul as he said it aloud.

Sneering at the brightly lit storefront, he shook his head, steeled his resolve and got out of the car, slamming the door every bit as loudly as Sam had a moment ago. The cold air hit him and left him sneezing and cursing all the way across the parking lot. Reaching the doors, a bit of his irritation faded when he caught sight of his overgrown little brother waging war with two shopping carts. Rolling his eyes, Dean heaved an annoyed sigh, sneezed some more, then walked through the gaping maw of the enemy.

Sam continued to wrestle with the two carts that were evidently melded together for all of eternity. Swallowing painfully, Dean let his brother struggle for a few more minutes until it became more pathetic than entertaining. Voice like it had been through a grater, Dean finally spoke up and asked, "Why don't you just take one of the five million _other_ carts, genius?"

When he still didn't get a response, Dean folded his arms across his chest and asked, "Seriously? What's wrong with that one? Or that one?"

Sam kept fighting, his expression darkening. Dean kept going, "They personally offend you somehow? Sam? Sam? Dude, you look like an idiot. Seriously? What the actual…"

"They're all wet!" Sam suddenly shouted. He looked up at Dean for the first time and looked so frustrated that tears seemed likely within the next thirty seconds.

Blankly, Dean stared back at him. Sam was huffing and puffing and obviously ready to punch something. Realizing _his_ face would probably suit Sam as well as anything else, Dean took a step backward as he studied the carts. They _were_ all covered in fat raindrops from the heavy rainstorm that had only finished moments before they'd pulled into the parking lot. Sam had been wrestling with the only two dry carts.

Taking a cautious step closer to Sam and his nemeses, Dean looked to the right, catching sight of something he hadn't seen earlier. He grinned and said, "Those are dry."

Sam deflated a little, following Dean's pointing finger, but he retained his white-knuckled grip on the cart. Dean almost laughed when Sam rolled his eyes in complete exasperation and said, "We're not taking one of those."

"They have motors!"

Returning to tugging on the carts, Sam didn't bother to comment.

Dean stared at the motorized scooters and said, "Come on! Dude, there's two of them! We could get this stupid trip done in half the time."

"We can walk faster than those things drive." Sam muttered, continuing to rain on Dean's parade.

"Well, _I_ can." Dean scoffed, "But you definitely aren't walking faster than a scooter these days, gimpy."

"They're for old ladies." Sam huffed, actually looking worn out from his battle.

Dean shook his head and said, "Apparently _you're_ an old lady."

Finally deciding the amusement had worn off enough for him to take action, Dean stepped to the opposite end of the conjoined carts and said, "Don't fall on your butt ok? The way my head feels, I'm not leaning down to pick you up."

"Just pull, will you?" Sam asked, grabbing the handle of one cart while Dean grabbed the opposite end of the second cart. "I don't want to be here all night."

"This was your idea." Dean said, bracing his feet and yanking in the opposite direction as Sam pulled.

"We didn't have a choice." Sam sighed for what had to be the thousandth time. Then he repeated what he'd said about a thousand times already, "Beggars can't be choosers, Dean."

"I'd rather be a choosy beggar than a beggar who chooses Walmart."

"We need stuff."

"Not from _here_ we don't."

"Everything. Else. Is. Closed." Sam said, for at least the tenth time in the past hour; staggering backwards as the carts came apart. He leaned heavily on the cart and Dean could tell he was trying to stay off his right leg.

Dean pushed the other cart aside and said, "Fine. Fine. Let's just get this over with."

"Gladly." Sam said, pushing the cart into the store trying, and failing, to make it look like he wasn't limping.

Watching him for a few seconds, Dean shook his head and went for the motorized scooter. It was two thirty in the morning. The chances of too many 90 year old grannies stopping by for flour, or whatever it was grannies went shopping for, seemed slim so Dean gleefully hopped on one of the scooters and quickly caught up with his brother.

"Are you five?" Sam said slowly and deliberately, irritation and embarrassment tangling up together in his tone and the expression on his face.

Dean just zipped past him and headed for the pharmacy department.

* * *

"Why would you get that one when you can get the _extra strength_ one?" Dean asked, pitching the pill bottle over Sam's head into the cart. "Nothing but net!"

Sam sighed, not bothering to look over his shoulder. He didn't need to; he could practically _feel_ Dean's exuberant grin. When the scooter zipped around him again, he wasn't surprised. Watching Dean round the corner, Sam could almost hear the squealing tires and see the black smoke as he disappeared. Glad his juvenile sibling was no longer in sight, he sagged a bit more against the cart. His knee was killing him. Staring at the pill bottle Dean had tossed into the cart, he decided maybe the extra strength one wasn't such a bad plan in all honesty.

Limping around the corner Dean had recently veered around, Sam found his brother studiously comparing two boxes of medications. _Cold medications_. With a smirk, Sam said, "Thought you weren't sick."

"Go buy your deodorant and stop being a little bitch about everything." Dean grumbled, sneezing and looking like a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar as he put the boxes back on the shelf. The scooter jerked forward and Dean called over his shoulder, "I'm going to look for the food. You've got five minutes to meet me at the door or I'm leaving your sorry ass here and you can walk to the motel."

"We haven't even _found_ a motel yet." Sam shot the back of his brother's head a glare.

"Which will make it all the more fun for you to try to find me." Dean taunted as the scooter disappeared around the corner again.

Shaking his head, Sam looked back at the medications. Hearing Dean sneezing as he drove away, Sam decided the extra strength cold medication was probably the best option and tossed it into the cart. Annoyance with his brother faded as the sharp pain in his knee flared when he took a step forward. Sam grabbed a couple bags of cough drops off the shelf as he headed down the aisle. Hunting for the deodorant aisle took most of the five minutes Dean had allotted him and by the time he'd found the right kind, Sam was sweating and limping.

Hobbling back toward the main aisle, he felt a momentary flash of panic. The stupid store was huge. Everywhere he looked, aisles fanned out in all directions. Dean hadn't wanted to come to Walmart, but given the fact _he'd_ been the one who had insisted on driving all night despite the fact they were in need of medications and other necessities, Sam figured it was his own fault that their only shopping choice was the gaudy superstore. Refocusing, Sam heard a sneeze from ahead on the left. Pushing the cart in that direction, he realized it wasn't the food section he was heading toward.

It was the _toy section_.

Before he even had time to start feeling annoyed again, Sam heard his brother's excited, "Sammy, check this out!"

Smiling even though it was the middle of the night and it felt like someone had driven a sword through his knee, Sam limped toward the sound of his brother's sneezing. It didn't even phase him that Dean was shouting his name in the middle of a deserted store or that he'd gone to the toy section instead of the food; Sam was too pleased to hear the unabashed glee in his brother's voice. Lately, there had been nothing resembling even mere happiness. Almost a month after Dad's death, and Dean still seemed weighed down with the grief he had barely acknowledged, let alone dealt with.

Following the sounds of sneezing, Sam headed up a row of aisles, then turned a corner, and nearly ran straight into Dean in his stupid scooter. Dean stopped the scooter and said, "Look!"

 _Seriously, he_ is _five years old_ , Sam thought, then immediately forgot about any embarrassment when he saw what Dean was holding. Eyes widening, his own excitement building as he said, "No way!"

"Way!" Dean grinned. He looked down at the box in his hands and said, "We are so buying this."

Never mind that it was expensive and they needed food and things like socks. Sam nodded, "Let me see it."

Dean held it up for a quick glimpse but wouldn't relinquish the box. He shook it and said, "I can't believe I found it. And this time we can afford it!"

Sam decided maybe they could do without socks for awhile. If Dean was going to spend over a hundred dollars of his poker winnings on the complete Millenium Falcon Lego kit then Sam wasn't going to complain about a pair or two of socks with a hole or three in them. That kit had been the Holy Grail of Lego kits to them as kids. They'd had plenty of Legos, even some Star Wars Lego sets, but not that one.

"We are putting this together today." Dean announced, putting the kit reverently into the small basket on the front of his scooter. He started moving forward, perusing the rest of the Legos with a discerning eye as he said, "Had no idea there was this much awesome crap in this store."

"Wishing you'd decided to darken the door sooner?" Sam smiled, following his brother down the aisle.

Dean just shot him an aggravated glance over his shoulder as he rounded the end of the aisle. Shaking his head, Sam made his much slower way down the aisle, pausing at the end. Out of sight of Dean, he gripped the end cap of the aisle and squeezed his eyes closed as he leaned heavily on his good leg.

* * *

Pausing halfway down the next aisle, Dean took in the sight of the Hot Wheels and wondered what the chances would be that he could find a '67 Impala. His sore throat and clogged sinuses almost forgotten, Dean stood up and started rifling through the display. After a few seconds, he realized he'd lost his shadow. He didn't like it when that happened. Looking back the way he'd come, Dean saw the front end of the cart Sam had been pushing. Wondering what he'd found that was holding his attention, Dean went back to investigate. And then he was shaking his head.

"Sam."

"What?" Sam didn't even force his eyes open. He just sighed.

"You're an idiot. How bad's the knee?"

"It's ok."

"Which is why you aren't standing on it and aren't moving forward and why it looks like your knee is about to pop the seam of your jeans." Dean said in jest, then frowned when he realized exactly how swollen Sam's knee really was. "Dude, how bad did you twist it?"

"It's fine." Sam said, pushing the cart into Dean. "Move. I'm tired."

Dean backed up and watched Sam try to casually hobble forward. Putting his hand against the cart, Dean got a dirty look from his brother, but ignored it and said, "Either go back and sit in the car till I'm done, or take the scooter."

"I'm not taking the scooter." Sam said, stubbornly pushing the cart around Dean and heading back to the main aisle.

Letting him go, Dean walked back to the scooter. He met up with Sam and tried to keep the scooter going at a slow enough pace to stay even with him. He asked, "What else is on the list?"

"Socks _were_ on the list, but that's not an emergency." Sam shrugged, resolutely staring ahead. "Food I guess."

"Food _is_ an emergency." Dean agreed, but quickly found his attention wandering as they passed the sporting goods section and he veered the scooter down the aisle with the hunting supplies. "Look! Knives."

Sam waved a hand, but kept pushing forward, practically dragging his leg at this point. Dean frowned at him, but let him go. By the time he'd selected the knife he needed to replace the one he'd lost on the last hunt, found an unenthusiastic clerk to unlock the display case, and made it back to the main aisle, Sam had made it about twenty yards. And was currently sitting slouched down in a display beanbag chair, one hand gently pressed against his knee. Dean stopped the scooter in front of his brother.

"You look like a giant sitting on a soccer ball."

"Soccer ball deserved it." Sam said with a huff as he sat back against the metal rack behind the beanbag chair he was squishing.

Dean couldn't disagree with him. A soccer ball had been what had gotten them into this situation in the first place. He nodded and said, "Yeah it did. So."

"So?"

"So. It's almost three. You're crushing a child's chair." Dean said, tilting his head in assessment, "I think we need to…"

"My knee hurts, ok? Like a freakin' giant punched it." Sam cut him off, looking sort of exhaustedly annoyed. Mostly he just looked like his knee hurt.

Dean nodded, getting off the scooter. He sneezed into his sleeve, then held out his hand. "Come on, Paul Bunyan. You had your shot."

Sam stared at his hand with a grimace of distaste and started to struggle out of the chair. He ended up floundering dramatically on the unsteady surface until he was sitting on his butt on the floor with his head and shoulders pillowed back on the chair. Dean had mutely watched the entire episode, but when Sam finished wrestling unsuccessfully and just threw an arm over his eyes, Dean couldn't help that a smile of amusement leaked out.

"Just leave me." Sam muttered.

Dean broke out laughing. He laughed until he couldn't hold back another sneeze, then sneezed until he thought his head was going to pop.

"We should buy some kleenex."

"Afraid I'm going to wipe my snot on your t-shirts?" Dean asked, hating how congested his voice was. He wiped his nose on his sleeve, grateful that Sam wasn't looking.

"You have in the past." Sam said, lowering his hand.

"Not since I was like five." Dean scoffed.

"You wiped your nose on _Dad's_ t-shirt when you were five."

For a moment, they both froze. Dean was pretty sure Sam had stopped breathing as soon as he'd finished speaking and all Dean could hear was his own congested breathing and pounding heart. Despite the lingering ache of loss in his chest, it hasn't hurt as much as it had even a week ago to think about Dad. Sam was still holding his breath and Dean wanted to make sure he knew it wasn't the end of the world. So he smiled and said, "You can't possibly remember that…"

Sam took a breath and actually grinned brightly and that made the knot in Dean's chest that much looser. Sam said, "Dad told me about it when you were ten and wiped your nose on _my_ t-shirt that time. I think he was trying to make me feel better."

"Shut up." Dean said, glaring at him. Then he sneezed and had to put his hand to his head to try to keep his brain where it belonged. His sinuses were trying valiantly to evict themselves, and everything else, from his skull. He forced his eyes open again when he heard movement in front of him. "What are you doing?"

Not answering, Sam concentrated on sitting up straight and getting his good leg underneath him. Dean reached down and grabbed him by the arm and helped drag him to his feet. Well, _foot_. Sam pointedly refused to put any weight on his right leg and Dean had to move quickly to get in a position to hold him up when he swayed.

"Give me a sec," Sam said, gripping Dean's shoulder, "just a sec."

"Sure." Dean said agreeably as he continued to hold his brother up. "You've got a sec to decide if you're going to suck it up and sit your butt in that scooter or if I'm going to be dragging you by your stupid hair back out to the car."

Dean grinned when he felt Sam's huff of laughter. Thinking he'd finally appealed to Sam's reasonable side, Dean was surprised when Sam pulled away from him and started pushing the cart again. Shaking his head, Dean asked, "Why are you so stubborn?"

"Take after my big brother, I guess." Sam called over his shoulder.

"Whatever." Dean said, smacking him on the shoulder as he limped away.

With a dramatic sigh, Dean got back on the scooter and followed his brother through the store toward the food. He found himself distracted by the music section. Finishing up his browsing a few minutes later, he tooled around the end of the aisle and found Sam browsing the DVDs. Parking the scooter close enough to gently bump Sam's cart earned him another dirty look. He ignored it.

"Thought we were here for food." He said, "What did you find?"

Sam held up the DVD and shrugged. Dean nodded, "Works for me."

Tossing _Rocky_ into Dean's basket, Sam said, "We should get some popcorn."

"Yes!" Dean grinned, reversing the scooter, then heading to the main aisle. "And beer."

"We always get beer."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

"Remember when all we ever wanted was Root Beer floats?" Sam asked, limping next to Dean in the deserted aisle.

Dean smirked and said, "I remember the time you made actual _beer_ floats."

Grinning, Sam said, "I was nine. I didn't know there was a difference! You said you wanted a Root Beer float…"

"You were so proud of yourself," Dean continued, smiling as he thought back to that hot summer day at Bobby's place. Bobby and Dad had been working on the Impala and he'd been eagerly learning the ropes while Sam had generally been a typical nine-year-old and gotten into nothing but trouble. "You brought 'em out on a tray and everything."

"I knew they tasted funny, but all Bobby had were those PBRs in the fridge." Sam defended himself, "They looked like bottles of Root Beer to me. You liked it."

"Of course I did!" Dean grinned, "I was fourteen and drinking beer. What wasn't to like? Although it tasted disgusting, it was beer! Oh man, Dad's face when he took a sip…" He started to laugh again. "He was so surprised. He just looked at you…"

"I thought he was going to wring my neck." Sam shook his head.

"If he hadn't realized that you'd done it on accident, he probably would have." Dean looked up and enjoyed the fact that Sam was as amused by the memory as he was. "You were such a cute little drunk, Sammy."

Sam glared at him, but it lacked heat. He said, "I was sick for two days."

"Your own fault for drinking a whole float on your own while you were making ours." Dean shook his head, "I still can't believe you didn't stop drinking when you realized it tasted funny."

"I thought it was a different brand."

"It was a different brand alright! _Alcoholic_."

"Shut up."

Dean couldn't help but laugh. It felt really good to be able to laugh about a story involving Dad. He said, "So. We getting some Root Beer then?"

Sam grinned, "Alcoholic or regular?"

The fact that they'd made it through a story involving Dad without it turning into a fight or a way to make Dean's mood go from good to awful relaxed Sam in a way that nothing else could. Maybe they were going to get through this after all. He grabbed the popcorn and turned the corner, marveling at the expanse of the store and the myriad of food choices spread out before him. He couldn't blame Dean for not wanting to come into a Walmart. They typically stuck to Mom and Pop kind of grocery stores. They felt like home compared to the cold, utilitarian vastness of Walmart. Even if there were more choices, he would be happy never to go back into one ever again.

"Ready?"

Sam heard the sneezing before he saw the scooter rounding the corner. He was _beyond_ ready. Nodding, he did a double-take when he saw the full basket. Glancing at Dean, he asked, "You got everything already?"

"Not as slow as you are." Dean said, turning the scooter toward the front of the store.

"Dude, did you seriously get ice cream?"

"Hell yes." Dean nodded, "Can't have a Root Beer float without it. Come on. Time to get out of here."

Sam couldn't have agreed more. He was sweating and gritting his teeth at the agony in his knee that intensified with every single step he took. Sitting down and getting some ice on his knee sounded even better than _alcoholic_ ice cream floats.

"You have got to be kidding me!" Dean's irritated voice interrupted his thoughts. Several successive sneezes interrupted Dean before he continued, "Only one freakin' line open?"  
"It's the middle of the night." Sam said reasonably, although he wanted to cry at how far away that line was.

Dean sneezed and complained the entire way. By the time they'd unloaded their purchases and the sleepy clerk had shown up, Sam was ready to beg his brother for the scooter. Dean turned to him and Sam was about to give up the pretense and just collapse onto the scooter, but he paused when he saw what Dean had in his hands.

The Millennium Falcon kit.

"Dean?"

His brother looked up at him and Sam felt his heart sink at how worn out Dean looked again. The lighthearted feel from earlier was gone. Sam asked, "What's up?"

Dean shrugged and said, "Probably don't really need this."

No, they probably didn't. On the other hand, maybe they did. Sam shook his head, grabbed the kit and tossed it on the belt next to the rest of their purchases. Dean frowned at him. Sam shrugged and said, "Let's get it. Why not."

"What are we going to do with it? Put it in the trunk with the machetes and salt rounds?" Dean asked, voice pitched low so only Sam could hear it.

"We're gonna build it." Sam answered. "And then we'll find a kid somewhere to give it to."

Dean considered for a long moment, then grinned looking all of five again. He pulled out his wallet and said, "Works for me."

* * *

"I knew you were a stubborn idiot, but this…" Dean broke off and shook his head in awe at exactly how stubborn an idiot his little brother actually was. "I can't believe you were walking around on this."

He watched Sam toss back the handful of extra strength painkillers and try to muffle his groan when Dean gently put the bag of ice against the towel that he'd draped over Sam's knee.

Dean shook his head and grabbed the water bottle back from Sam. Setting it on the bedside table, he sneezed a few times and Sam tapped him in the side with the box of kleenex. Sam said through gritted teeth, "Don't sneeze on me."

Blowing his nose, Dean glared at him, then deflated a little. His head was pounding and his eyes were itchy and hot. He'd taken the cold and sinus medication that Sam had insisted on buying and now all he could do was wait. Tossing the tissue into the waste basket, Dean looked back at Sam and said, "I'm still not sure we shouldn't have gone to a hospital."

"Shut up and make those floats, will ya?" Sam groused, his hands fisted in the sheets under him as he tried to fight through the pain.

Dean couldn't blame him. He'd known Sam had twisted his knee badly, but getting a look at the swollen, purpled mess of his knee had shocked him. The over the counter pain meds weren't going to do a lot for an injury like that. Glad he'd bought a bag of ice, a last minute inspiration, Dean said, "For someone who played soccer in grade school, you sure turned out clumsy in your old age, Pelé."

Sam glared at him, then shook his head, "How do you even know who Pelé is?"

"Don't change the subject." Dean shook his head, getting up and throwing the popcorn into the microwave. "You wiped out playing soccer. With a bunch of kids."

Sam's glare intensified and Dean laughed. A long day on the road had prompted a prolonged roadside lunch which had led into a pickup game of soccer with a ball Dean had spotted under a picnic table. A bunch of kids joined in shortly thereafter. Half an hour and one spectacular tripping-over-the-soccer-ball incident later, Sam was sidelined and moaning and Dean felt the first hint of a cold coming on. Half a dozen arguments over just about everything and they'd stubbornly driven for hours until Sam insisted they find a store so they could buy medicine and food.

Scooping the ice cream with a plastic spoon, Dean sneezed into his sleeve and said, "I think we should give Bobby a call. See if he's got anything."

"Yeah."

Dean licked ice cream off his finger and glanced over at his brother. Sam didn't look remotely interested, or capable, of anything except being in incredible pain at the moment. He wasn't quite ripping a hole in the blankets but his hands were going to be cramped and useless when he let go of the bedding.

If he ever let go of the bedding.

Shaking the ice cream off the spoon into the Root Beer, Dean said, "Or maybe we could just, I don't know, take the week off."

"What?"

"Well I don't exactly see you chasing after ghosts on one leg, limpy." Dean smirked, adding another scoop of ice cream. There was no freezer in the room so it was going to melt if they didn't eat it. _More the merrier_ , he thought, adding yet another scoop for good measure. He glanced over at Sam and caught his gaze. He shrugged and said, "We've been running hard for awhile now. A couple days off won't be the end of the world."

"You don't know that." Sam whined.

"You get so bitchy when you're in pain." Dean commented mildly, putting the finishing touches on the Root Beer float. He walked over and presented it to his brother with a flourish. "Here. An actual, legitimate, made with real Root Beer, Root Beer float."

Sam straightened up just a bit against the headboard and accepted the cup from Dean. He narrowed his eyes and stared at it suspiciously before glancing up at Dean and clarifying, "Nonalcoholic?"

"Dude!" Dean glared at him, wiping ice cream of his nose as he settled himself on the other side of the bed, popcorn between them. "Yes nonalcoholic."

"Just checkin'. You liked the alcoholic version…"

"No, I liked the _alcohol_. Your culinary disaster murdered perfection." Dean took a drink of his creation and nodded, "You don't screw with Root Beer floats."

"But you said you liked the float I made." Sam complained in a hurt tone, but there was a smirk on his face.

Dean narrowed his eyes and said, "Of course I told you I liked it. You were pathetic. You were so drunk you didn't have a clue what was going on. I was afraid you were going to start crying, you big baby."

Sam laughed and said, "Then Dad took my float away...and I did start crying."

"He looked like _he_ wanted to cry and Bobby was just trying so hard not to laugh." Dean laughed, remembering the comical scene, until he started sneezing.

"I just remember you and Bobby disappeared and Dad said he'd buy me more Root Beer when I felt better."

"He said that?" Dean smiled, grabbing a handful of popcorn.

Sam nodded, "I didn't know why he said that. I felt fine right then. Weird but ok."

"You always were weird…"

"Where'd you and Bobby go?" Sam asked, helping himself to some popcorn as he glanced at Dean. "It's all really hazy, but I just remember Dad trying to get me to eat something and drink some water and cursing Bobby's name the whole time."

Dean snorted, "I'm not surprised."

"So? Where did you two go? Back to work on the car?"

"Nope. We went out back to finish our floats." Dean grinned, wiggling his eyebrows. "My first beer."

Sam's jaw dropped. "You left me with Dad and you and Bobby just sat out there drinking?"

Dean clapped him on the shoulder, "Sorry, man. I was fourteen and drinking beer. I knew Dad wasn't gonna kill you or anything."

"Unbelievable." Sam smiled, reaching down to adjust the ice pack on his knee.

"Y'alright?" Dean took another swig of his float and watching his brother settle back against the headboard uncomfortably. "Sure you don't need an x-ray?"

Sam nodded, "It's fine." He grimaced, "Well, not fine, but you know what I mean."

"Yeah. I know what you mean." Dean muttered, sneezing repeatedly into his sleeve, then pressing the cool cup against his forehead. "Why is it we only get vacations when we're sick or broken?"

"That's what this is? A vacation?"

"Close as we're gonna get." Dean said, starting the DVD up on the laptop. He shifted, lowered the cup and grinned, "Remember, Sammy, beggars can't be choosers."

* * *

 **Just as a teaser...I am working on 2 other SPN stories right now. ...one of which brings back the Pender's from "The Christmas Spirit." No timetable for when either of them will actually make it to post...I'm working on my original novel for Camp NaNoWriMo this month so I've got a ton of scribbling to do between now and end of month, but wanted to let you know I do have some other SPN stories yet to come! Thank you for reading!**


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